


West Coast

by TimeIsRelative



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Castiel (Supernatural), Alpha Castiel/Omega Dean Winchester, Alpha John Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Beta Alastair, Beta Bobby Singer, Bounty Hunter John Winchester, Cold Castiel (Supernatural), Dean Winchester Has Issues, Derogatory Language, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual mpreg, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Kidnapping, M/M, Miscarriage, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Older Castiel (Supernatural), Omega Dean Winchester, Panic Attacks, Physical Abuse, Rape and abuse not between Dean/Cas, Russian Castiel (Supernatural), Russian Mafia, Sex Slave Dean Winchester, Sexual Abuse, Tattooed Castiel (Supernatural), Touch-Starved Dean Winchester, Underage Rape/Non-con, Younger Dean Winchester, adding tags as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-26
Packaged: 2021-03-27 14:15:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30124083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimeIsRelative/pseuds/TimeIsRelative
Summary: At the tender age of 16, Omega Dean Winchester was kidnapped by Beta Alastair Diamone and the Aryan Brotherhood after his father got too close for comfort to their organization. Forced to quickly come to terms with his place in the world, Dean becomes little more than a fuck toy for the Brotherhood, kept for convenience and little more. For over five years, Dean endures malnourishment, mistreatment, and even a miscarriage at the hands of the Brotherhood.On one of the rare occasions where Alastair takes him to a business meeting to show him off, he catches the eye of Pakhan Castiel Krushnic, the cold and calculating Alpha leader of the Russian Mafia who's not called "The Angel of Death" for nothing. Inexplicably, Castiel goes to great lengths to remove Dean from Alastair's possession, ending the terrible cycle of abuse Dean has faced, but not erasing the trauma of the last four years.When misunderstandings and miscommunication get in the way, will these two be able to pull through it together, or will Dean be broken down further?
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 24
Kudos: 84





	1. Intro

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my first fic! I've debated starting this for awhile now, and I've finally decided to do it! I am horrible at coming up with fic ideas, but this one has stuck with me for awhile so I kinda just decided to go for it. I literally don't have much of an idea where this fic is going, nor do I have a set posting schedule. With that said, I WILL NOT BE ABANDONING THIS FIC unless something disastrous comes up, I promise I am going to finish it. 
> 
> Anyways...this is not a very dark chapter, those are coming up shortly. The title comes from the song "West Coast" by Image Dragons.  
> Enjoy and thanks for reading!
> 
> TW:  
> Attempted assault/rape of a minor, kidnapping

Dean stood leaning against the doorframe to the kitchen in Bobby's living room, his arms crossed and shoulders tense, trying not to let his nervousness show in his scent. Bobby sat at his desk, the older Beta presumably reading some ancient document that Dean couldn't even begin to comprehend. The only sound in the house was John's heavy clomping upstairs and the creaking of steps. Only moments later did Sam shuffle into the room, eyes heavy from sleep and hair rumpled.

"Heya, Sammy, was startin' to think you'd never wake up." Dean pushed away from the wall.

Sam threw Dean his classic bitch face but came over to him anyway. "Like I would let you leave while I was sulking upstairs. Besides Dad's making a ruckus up there."

Dean huffed a breath, tired of debating the same thing with Sam, “I know you wanna come, Sammy, but it's too dangerous this time, I won't be there to watch over your sorry ass like I have before. It's only for a few days. We'll be back before you know it,” Dean pulled Sam into a crushing hug, breathing in his neutral, unpresented scent, “Dad said that it’s a fairly easy job, and he’ll finally let me help out a bit more than usual.” It was hard to keep the excitement out of his voice.

Sam pulled back, turning his puppy eyes on Dean, “I still don’t understand, I'm not that much younger than you, and I know how to defend myself.”

Dean leaned back against the wall, taking a few breaths to get his scent under control, "I know you can, Sammy, but me and Dad both still worry about you and I don't want anything to happen while I'm not there. Besides, I know how much you like staying here. I know for a fact that you haven't made it through Bobby’s entire collection of books yet." As much as it killed Dean to leave Sam, he knew it was for the best. Bobby would keep a good eye on the kid while they were gone.

“Yeah, I know," Sam gave a long sigh, admitting defeat, "I’ll see you in a few days.” Sam pulled him into another hug. "Jerk."

Dean let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, "Bitch."

“Alright ya Idjits, break it up, he’s only leaving for a few days, there’s no need to get all sentimental.” Bobby’s fond scent betrayed his tone, and Dean rolled his eyes at the old grump as Sam made his way into the kitchen, grabbing a box of cereal from the cupboard.

Bobby stood up from his desk, giving Dean a pat on the back as he walked into the kitchen, searching for a beer in the fridge even though it was only 9 o’clock in the morning. “You just watch your back while you’re gone, I know it’s an easy case and all, but you know how things are, your luck can switch up real quick.”

“I will, Bobby. I doubt I’m going to be helping much anyways, but I’ll make sure nothing follows us home.” 

“That ain’t exactly what I’m worried about ya Idjit.”

Dean opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted by John’s heavy steps as he came down the stairs. “Dean! You all ready to go, son?”

“Yes, sir, the Impala is all loaded.” Dean replied as John came into view, duffle bag slung over his shoulder and keys in hand.

“Alright then, let’s get a move on, I want to reach Phoenix by early tomorrow evening.” Dean nodded and started to head for the door, “Behave while we’re gone, Sam. Thanks for the hospitality, Bobby. I’ll let you know when we’re headed back this way.” And with that John followed Dean out of the house.

John threw his duffle bag into the trunk, slamming it closed and making his way to the driver’s side door. Dean opened the passenger door and made to get in, but was stopped by John’s words. “I figured that I’d drive ‘til afternoon and then catch some sleep while you drive for a bit.”

Dean turned wide-eyed toward John, utter disbelief etched on his youthful face. He masked it quickly, trying to keep his voice even as he choked out a response, “Oh, uh, yeah, I mean, yes, sir, I can do that.” John rarely let Dean drive the Impala, instead convincing Bobby to loan them a junker from the salvage yard for him to practice on. It was barely a month after his 16th birthday and he’d yet to have a driver’s license forged for him. 

John doesn’t dignify that with a response, sliding into the front seat and turning the ignition key in the Impala. Dean made to get in, but was stopped once again, this time by the front door slamming closed and Bobby’s gruff, “Dean, wait a minute would ya.”

Dean sighed and closed the Impala’s door, hearing grumbling from John coming from inside, “Sure, whatda need Bobby?”

Bobby came down the steps, stopping before Dean, “You watch out for yourself, okay, boy. Don’t let John push you around too much. I know how you idolize him, Dean, but he’s not everything you’ve made him out to be.”

Dean tensed, his honey and pine scent turning burnt, “I know how to take care of myself, and Dad isn’t what you’re making him out to be, okay.”

Bobby narrowed his eyes as Dean turned to walk back to the Impala, “I’ve seen the bruises, Dean, and I know you aren’t that clumsy.”

“You haven’t seen shit.” Dean opened the Impala’s passenger door and climbed in, muscling his scent under control so his dad wouldn’t comment on it.

“Everything alright, son?” John started the Impala, his potent, almost repulsive, alpha scent filling the Impala quickly.

“Yes, sir, I’m ready to go.”

John nodded, accepting Dean’s answer, and backed out of the salvage yard. The silence in the small space was awkward between them, neither knowing what to say. It didn’t take long for John to turn the radio on, barely paying attention to what’s playing, but turning it up nonetheless. 

-+++-

They drove almost 12 hours, driving through Nebraska and most of Colorado before stopping at a little motel off of I-29 S.

Dean parked the Impala toward the back of the lot, shutting the engine off and depositing the keys in John’s hand. John got out and unlocked the trunk before heading into the motel’s office to book a room for the night. They were still a good 10 hour drive from Phoenix, and Dean was surprised that John even let them stop somewhere instead of driving through the night. Dean sighed, getting out of the Impala slowly and making his way to the trunk. He collected their bags, setting them on the ground and closing the trunk before leaning against the Impala’s side, waiting for John to return with their room number. 

It was only a minute before he watched two guys climb out of a dark SUV, presumably Alphas from their build, and start making their way toward Dean. His hand slowly made its way toward the inside of his jacket, where his tactical pocket knife was kept. As they got closer, Dean could pick up on their scents, confirming his suspicion that they were Alphas. He kept his scent calm and carefree, taking deep breaths to steady his racing heart, but when his nose was only filled with the absolutely revolting scent of the two alphas, he instead focused on maintaining his awareness of the surroundings, hoping to God that John would be back any second now. 

The alphas were close now, maybe three or four yards. “What’s a pretty little thing like you doing out so late at night?” the taller, blonde haired alpha sneered.

“And not even a collar on the bitch. You’re practically begging to be claimed right now, whore.” 

Of course they had to be arrogant knotheads. Dean rolled his eyes, but made no move to flee. “What, are you knots so small no willing Omega wants you? Have to rape some poor son of a bitch just to show how ‘Alpha’ you are? Please, spare me, I could take you two down in a heartbeat if you try anything.” Dean let some of his fake arrogance bleed into his scent, feigning disinterest in the two Alphas but keeping them in his sights.

The two alphas laughed, and Dean almost gagged at how putrid their scents had become from arousal. “You’ll be singing a different tune once you’re hanging off our knots, you whiny bitch.”

They advanced at the same time, spreading out a bit to cut off any of his chances to escape. Well, he should’ve known intimidation tactics wouldn’t have worked. Dean pulled out his knife, waving it in front of him in desperation. “I’d stay back there if I were you, I’m not afraid to let your guts spill on the concrete.”

The Alphas just laughed some more and before he knew it, the taller one lunged and disarmed him of the knife, leaving him defenseless against them. Goddamn it, where in the bloody hell was his dad?

“You’ll be regretting that before long, Omega.” They cackled and advanced on him, pressing him into the side of the Impala.

Instantly, the shorter Alpha was spun around and John’s fist connected with his nose, a sickening crunch indicating that it was definitely broken. The Alpha stumbled, clutching his bleeding nose and trying to quickly back away from John and Dean. 

“I’d suggest that you take your friend here and leave,” John said coldly, wiping the blood on his knuckles onto his jeans. 

The taller Alpha didn’t wait for his friend, taking off toward the SUV they got out of and quickly getting inside. He started it up and waited until the other Alpha was inside before tearing out of the parking lot. 

John threw the room key to Dean, “Go inside and wash up, you stink.”

“Yes, sir.” Dean scrambled to comply, pushing back his panic and tears to grab his bag and unlock the door. He shoved himself inside, just barely remembering to prop the door open for John before he was rushing into the bathroom.

He threw his duffle on the grimy bathroom floor and started tearing his clothes off. Avoiding looking at himself in the mirror above the sink, he started the shower, turning the handle as hot as it would go.

As soon as the water was barely lukewarm, Dean climbed into the tiny shower, immediately beginning to scrub himself clean of Alpha musk and his own fear scent. He spent nearly half an hour rubbing his skin a raw pink before he turned the water off and sank to the floor in shower stall, bringing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around his legs.

Sure, there had been harassment before, there always was someone at school who decided he’d be an easy target. Most Alphas, and even the occasional Beta, learned pretty quickly that Dean Winchester was not to be fucked with. He attended school so rarely that no one usually bothered him anyway. But this? No, this had not happened before. He’d heard stories about it, of course. He knew that lone Omegas were taken advantage of quite frequently even in small towns, let alone the big cities. 

Dean just figured that it’d never happen to him. He was rarely allowed to even go out by himself, let alone be gone for any significant period of time. And someone was almost always with him, whether it be his dad, or Bobby, or even another hunting buddy of his dad’s. Sure, he was generally looked down upon, even by his own father, but it was never so goddamn terrifying. What Dean wouldn’t give for Sammy to be either an Alpha or a Beta.

He shook himself of his thoughts, his ass going numb on the shower tile, and finally got out of the shower, quickly grabbing a towel to cover himself up. He dried himself efficiently, threw the damp towel on the rank next to the sink, and dug clean clothes out of his duffle. His dirty clothes were shoved in a pile in the corner by the sink. 

After quickly getting dressed in comfortable jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, Dean zipped his duffle up and gingerly grabbed his dirty clothes. He unlocked the door and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw John practically passed out on the bed closest to the door. He threw the dirty clothes into the trash bin near the door and set his duffle at the foot of his bed. Slipping his knife under the pillow, Dean settled in for a fitful night of sleep.

-+++-

The world came back into focus slowly. After a night of only a few hours of sleep, Dean had just settled down when the light streaming through the window in the back of the room woke him. He groaned, sitting up and noticing that his dad’s bed was empty. As a matter of fact, so was the bathroom. His duffle was still in the room, which meant he hadn’t left Dean here for good, and there weren’t signs of a break in, so…

The door suddenly swung inward, startling Dean enough to draw the knife under his pillow before he could see who was at the door. 

His dad rolled his eyes, “It’s just me, son. Put that away and come eat so we can get back on the road.”

Dean slid out of bed, tossing the knife on top of his duffle before joining his dad at the creaky table. They both had their fill of greasy, cheap breakfast sandwiches, which Dean wasn’t quite sure what they consisted of. His reluctant eating of two sandwiches seemed to appease his father enough, and they were soon back on the road toward Phoenix. 

Dean tried to busy himself for the rest of the a little over 10 hour drive, digging through the worn out duffel where they kept files on most of the active bounties. He was searching through the newer cases, but couldn’t find one with any information about sightings or anything even traceable to Phoenix, Arizona. 

“Hey, Dad, who’d you say we were goin’ after, again?”

“I’ve told you multiple times now, Dean. Can’t you remember?” His father didn’t even spare him a glance.

“Oh, uh, no, sir. I’m sorry, sir.” Dean tried to rack his brain for anything his dad had said on the case besides how “easy” it was going to be. He came up empty.

“Figures,” he grumbled unintelligibly, “The name’s Benji Hood, wanted for manslaughter and extortion in North Carolina. It’s all right there in his file.”

Dean carefully went through all of the files again, checking for a Hood, but his file wasn’t in there.

“His, uh, his file’s not in here, sir.” Dean clenched a fist together, willing himself to remain calm.

“What do you mean his file’s not in there? I just fucking checked that it was before we left, you goddamn useless piece of shit! Don’t fucking tell me it’s not in there,” his father practically screamed, finally losing his temper after the disaster that was last night.

Dean knew better than to say anything back. He silently zipped the duffle bag back up and set it on the backseat, willing his scent under control lest his father make another remark. Or worse.

-+++-

The rest of the drive to Phoenix was spent in tense, uncomfortable silence that seemed to grow the closer they got to their destination. 

The only good thing about the drive was how warmer it got the further South they drove. They were able to shed their jackets, and Dean had to eventually roll his sleeves up because of how warm the inside of the Impala got. 

Since they hadn’t left until around 8 o’clock that morning, they pulled into their motel on the outskirts of Phoenix a little before 7 PM. Dean stayed in the Impala this time while his father went to check them in. 

It was only 15 minutes later when they had their bags in the room and were settled for the few days that they’d be there. 

“I saw a little diner down the road, let’s get something to eat and then we can go over the case.” It might have been framed like some sort of suggestion, but Dean knew that it was practically an order.

“Yes, sir,” Dean replied, digging through his duffle bag for his scent blockers. They were the heavier strength ones, meant to last at least 24 hours as long as they weren’t washed off. 

Dean followed his father out the door after liberally applying the scent blockers. With his smell neutralized, his broad stature allowed him to easily come across as a beta.

The diner was almost deserted except for a few patrons scattered at seemingly random booths. They were seated quickly and had their orders placed within minutes. 

Without the distraction of a menu, Dean was left to fiddle with the hem of his shirt or stare out the window at the dark parking lot. While the inside of the diner was bright, only a few stray street lights illuminated the parking lot, casting long shadows over the cars. 

It was a fairly small town. The diner seemed to be on the edge of it, with bright lights down the road indicating a much busier destination than the empty diner suggested. 

It didn’t take long for Dean to figure out why the place was empty. His burger tasted like ash and his fries were so undercooked he could barely stomach to eat a few. The disapproving looks from his father were enough to convince him to shove a few more in his mouth before covering the taste up with a long drink of his watered down coke. 

They didn’t stay much longer after that. His father quickly finished his own meal, giving no indication that it was just as awful as Dean’s, and then moved to the register to pay. 

Dean took his time sliding out of the booth, taking one last drink from his coke before following his father to the diner’s exit. 

The door swung open just as Dean was getting ready to push it outward, causing him to stumble forward and fling his arms out to try and catch himself. He practically crashed into a solid body, arms still flailing to try and prevent himself from landing face first on the pavement outside. 

“Careful now, wouldn’t want to damage that pretty face of yours,” the man, a beta with a obnoxiously potent smell, grinned. 

“Get your hands off of him,” his father growled from behind him, grabbing onto Dean’s jacket and yanking him out of the other Alpha’s grip. 

Dean righted himself, finally getting a look at the Beta who had both caused and prevented his almost fall. He was a few inches taller than Dean, with graying brown hair and neatly trimmed facial hair that was beginning to gray. His eyes shone an almost unnatural silver color in the lights. He positively reeked of rotten eggs, and was that what blood smelled like? Dean couldn’t be sure, but he was freaked out nonetheless. 

His father growled again and shoved Dean through the doorway, keeping a tight grip on his jacket and practically dragging Dean away from the man who had put his hands up in a placating gesture.

“Get in.” He was deposited at the passenger door of the Impala while his father went around to the driver’s side. 

Dean quickly opened the door, not looking to anger his father further, but chanced a glance back at the entrance of the diner, where the man still stood. His placating posture from just moments ago was gone, replaced with a kind of cockiness only Alpha’s, and apparently this man, seemed to be able to possess. His eyes were still fixated on Dean and when he caught Dean looking, the corners of his mouth stretched into a predatory smirk. 

Shivers went down Dean’s spine and he hastily threw himself into the Impala, slamming the door closed and sending a quick apology to the car for being so rough with her.

His father didn’t waste any time, steering the Impala back toward their motel and driving way over the speed limit. 

Dean still shivered thinking about the encounter with the strange alpha, but he didn’t understand what had his dad so spooked, and no way in hell was he going to bring it up. He was in enough shit already, no need to add to the mess so much that his father took his anger and frustrations out on him. Yeah, no thanks, Dean was content to focus on staying in his seat while his father took a corner a tad too sharply. 

-+++-

Dean was really starting to worry. He figured that once they got back in their motel room and his father could see that they were perfectly alright, that his tense, irritable attitude would disappear. Unfortunately, it seemed the exact opposite was true. His father stood pacing the entire room, seemingly forgetting that Dean was even there. He mumbled to himself occasionally, but it was never loud enough for Dean to make out what he was saying.

He had tried to ask what the problem was multiple times, but each attempt only awarded him with a rumbling growl or a tense “quiet,” that sounded more like a threat than anything else.

Dean opened his mouth for near the seventh time, but he couldn’t find the words, not that his father would like to hear them anyway.

His father suddenly stopped pacing, eyes unfocused, but seemingly having a realization all the same. “Son of a bitch.”

“Dad? What is it? What’s going on?”

His father moved toward their bags, unzipping his and taking out a handgun. He quickly loaded the magazine and flicked the safety off. Without another word, his father dragged a chair into the center of the room, facing the door. 

It was an incredibly tense few minutes before a pair of headlights flashed across the window next to the door, there and gone before Dean could even blink.

Only moments later did his father address him, “Go into the bathroom and lock the door. Turn the lights off and pull the shower curtain closed. Lay flat against the bottom of the tub and don’t come out until I get you.”

“What? No! Tell me what’s going on, I can help!” Dean was nearly shaking from fear. He’d never seen his father like this before.

“You heard me, Dean. There’s no time for arguments, go!” his father stood, pushing the chair away and loading the gun.

Dean scrambled into the bathroom, following his father’s instructions and hiding himself in the bathroom tub/shower combo. He tried to keep even his breathing quiet, but his terror was making it difficult.

Everything was still for many moments, allowing Dean’s thoughts to wonder and his anxiety to grow. He still had no clue what had set his father off so horribly, or why they were in any danger at all. Was it that creep from earlier? Did he follow them here? 

Dean was saved from his thoughts by the creaking of the motel room door opening, loud enough to be heard through the bathroom door. He stayed motionless, fighting the urge to run into the other room and help his dad with whatever was about to happen. 

He could hear the octaves of voices, and even with how loud they were in the silence of the room, he couldn’t make out what they were saying. The talking only lasted for a few seconds before Dean could hear the crashing of what presumably was a body falling on the table in the room. 

Chaos ensued. Multiple gunshots rang out, deafening in the small bathroom. Dean could make out his father cursing loudly, and his terror grew. What if his father lost and whoever he was fighting got past the flimsy bathroom door? Oh God, oh God, oh God, Dean was nearing a panic attack.

All sounds outside the bathroom ceased. For a few precious minutes, Dean allowed himself to believe that his father had won and would come and get him at any minute. But then Dean heard the heavy footsteps of not one man, but at least two. 

Dean drew his knife out of his jacket, holding it to his chest and praying to any god that might be listening that the men would just leave and not look in the bathroom. He could hear the bathroom door handle being tried, and then forcibly jiggled when they found it locked. 

Dean had barely taken a shallow breath when the bathroom door was kicked open with more force than necessary, causing sharp pieces of wood to go flying as a figure entered the doorway. He held his breath and prayed that the scent blockers from earlier were still working to hide his scent. 

He heard two heavy footsteps and then the shower curtain was being yanked away, revealing his hiding spot and propelling Dean into action. As soon as he saw an opening to the man’s exposed stomach, Dean sprung forward and sank his knife into the lower chest of his assailant. Not waiting for the man to retaliate, Dean jumped out of the tub, sidestepping his attacker and making a break for the motel room door. 

He sprinted out of the bathroom door, and a quick scan of the motel room showed no one in sight. Dean ran the last few steps to the door, preparing himself to take off into town and hide out his attackers. 

Not even two steps out the door and a heavy body rammed into Dean, sending them both crashing to the pavement. Dean’s head smacked against the concrete and his vision went dangerously black. On his back, he looked up to see the same pale white eyes from earlier. One of his attackers was definitely the Beta who bumped into him earlier.

“Well, hello there, pretty, fancy seeing you again.” 

“Get the fuck off of me you sick bastard!”

The man just smiled and held out a hand. One of the other men dropped something into it, but Dean couldn’t tell what it was in the dark lighting.

“Now, is that any way to talk to your master, Omega bitch? No matter, you’ll soon learn.” 

Someone grabbed onto Dean’s shoulders and held him to the pavement while the guy who crashed into him brought his hands closer to Dean’s neck. Dean realized that the man had a collar in his hands.

“No! No, you can’t do this! You can’t do this!” Dean flailed his arms as much as he could and tried to kick up at the man’s groin with what little leg movement he could muster. It made no difference.

The collar snapped around his neck with an audible click. It was foreign and uncomfortable around his neck, fitted too tightly so that it squeezed the nape of his neck too much. 

The man on top of him reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulling out a slender remote. “Load the bitch up, we’re getting out of here before the cops show up,” he looked down to address Dean, showing off the remote, “See you in a few hours, whore.”

A blinding pain shot down Dean’s spine before the darkness engulfed him.


	2. Hold the Line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! This one is a long one. And pretty dark, so please, please heed the tags and the trigger warnings. There's a clean summary at the end if you just want to skip this entire chapter, which I totally understand if you do. 
> 
> I'm so sorry to all my readers who read the first chapter before I erased the timestamp at the beginning. I realized that if I did that then the majority of the fic would take place in 1999 and 2000, and I really don't want that so...the year is now gone. 
> 
> Enjoy this chapter! I apologize ahead of time....  
> Chapter Title: Hold the Line by Toto
> 
> TW:  
> Graphic depictions of rape and torture, graphic depictions of a miscarriage, non consensual drug use

_**2 Months After Dean’s Kidnapping** _

Dean's shoulders and knees ache. They've ached for awhile now. He's been chained up kneeling for over 12 hours. It burns every time he takes a breath, at least a few of his ribs are broken. He can't see, but he knows his skin is littered with bruises, dark blue patches and sickly looking yellow ones.

He's chained in a small cell, the room cold and damp. Only a singular light bulb on the far side of the room lights the space, not nearly enough light to reach his cramped cell. It's always dark, not even when Alastair comes does he turn any more lights on. 

Dean’s ribs are starting to show, his bones becoming more profound and easily broken. His wrist still throbs from when Alastair broke it a month or so ago. He’s surprised that he’s still getting fed twice a day, and while they aren’t substantial meals, just a colorless porridge basically, they’re at least something. 

Dean’s tried to escape three times now, each time ending in blinding pain and endless screaming. Each time the punishments got worse, going from a severe whipping to being burned all over his body by hot wax and then whipped. Alastair’s threatened to brand him if Dean tries to run off or fight back again. After his third escape attempt, he’d said, “You know, little birdy, if you keep trying to pull this shit over on me, I’ll just hold you down and sear my brand across your chest. ‘Property of AD,’ has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? Then you’d never forget who you belong to.” Alastair had sneered comically wide and brought the whip across Dean’s back again. 

It’s hard to believe that the fucker is apparently one of the three leaders of the Aryan Brotherhood in California. Alastair doesn’t necessarily go around spilling state secrets, but he sure does like to run his mouth around Dean. Unfortunately, “California” was about as much as Alastair said about their location. 

Oh, God, how he misses Sammy. He hopes the little twerp is still safe with Bobby, and that Bobby stays out of this mess with the Aryan’s. He knows the chances of the latter are slim, Bobby never could leave well enough alone. 

Dean’s shook out of his thoughts by the slam of the metal door leading into “his” room. He hears Alastair before he sees him, the bastard’s stupid cocky walk loud in the silent room. It’s only a couple of seconds before his stupid silver eyes come into view. Dean had asked him about his eyes in the beginning, it was one of the few questions he’d answered, saying that his eyes intimidated everyone else. Dean just thinks they make him look like a dipshit. 

“Hello, little bitch, how are we feeling today?”

“Go to hell, Alastair.”

“My, my, still not broken your spirit I see,” he lets out a suffering sigh, “I’ve been so patient with you, little bird, but I think it’s time to add some more _persuasion_ , don’t you think?”

Dean doesn’t bother to answer, fixing Alastair with a glare and refusing to drop his eyes. He knows it’s not a good idea to provoke him, but Dean can’t seem to stop ignoring the little voice inside him that’s demanding his submission. Like hell he’s just gonna lay there and take it.

Alastair unlocks his cell door, stepping inside and bending down to unchain Dean from the wall. He doesn’t give Dean any time to stand and orient himself, instead he yanks on the length of chain while Dean is still kneeling, causing Dean to fall forward and be dragged by his arms out of the cell. Alastair drags Dean closer to the lone light bulb in the room, forcing him to stand. The chains around his ankles get secured to a loop in the floor while his arms are raised above his head, the length of chain connecting his wrists secured to a hook hanging from the ceiling.

Alastair appraises Dean for a few seconds, his eyes dragging up and down Dean’s naked body. The sick fucker must like what he sees because he only hums and walks out of Dean’s line of sight. He hears him rummaging around in the cabinets, setting things out on the concrete countertop. 

It’s not long before Alastair is back in front of Dean, holding a remote in one hand and the barbed whip in the other. Dean takes deep breaths, refusing to let his scent show his fear. 

“Let’s start with an easy one. What’s your name?” Alastair sneers, his horrible Beta scent showing his excitement and making Dean gag.

“Dean Winchester.”

The whip comes down before the last syllable is out. The barbs dig into his skin, cutting deep and leaving long gash marks across his back. 

“What’s your name?” Alastair growls out.

“Dean Winchester,” he has a hard time saying, his breath coming in short pants.

Alastair moves quickly, snatching Dean’s ring finger and twisting until it breaks painfully. Not even a second after that does an electric current race down Dean’s spine, his arms shaking and vision going blurry. 

“What’s your name?”

The world sways unnaturally for a few moments before his vision clears. “I don’t...I don’t have a name.”

“That’s right. Now that wasn’t so hard, was it, pet?” 

Dean tries to control his breathing, sucking in quick, short breaths. The world tilts again, and Dean has to blink multiple times before it rights itself.

“Let’s try another one, hm? What’s my name?” Alastair flexes his wrist with the whip, his anticipation and excitement growing.

“Alastair Diamone,” Dean bares his teeth at Alastair, his head a mess of jumbled thoughts.

The whip cracks down across his back again, lower this time. The pain in his back is quickly followed by his head snapping to the side. His vision goes dark around the edges, and it takes a minute for Dean to realize that Alastair definitely just punched his jaw. 

“How about you try that again.”

Dean can’t think straight anymore, the world spinning dangerously. “Master. Your name is master.” Dean babbles, the words coming out slurred.

“Yes, good job, pet. And what’s the only thing you’re good for?” Alastair grins, knowing that Dean won’t ever answer this question.

Dean doesn’t even think he _can_ answer the question, his thoughts stumbling over each other. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, but words refuse to come out. No, no, no, no, no. He has to answer. He _has_ to answer. 

Dean tries again, but what he manages to croak out is the wrong thing, “No.”

“What did you say to me, bitch? Did you fucking tell me no? I thought you already learned this lesson. You _don’t get_ to fucking tell me no, whore.” Alastair screams at Dean, raising his hand with the whip at the same time that his thumb smashes the button on the remote. 

Dean’s entire body is on fire. His legs give out on him, and he’s pretty sure he dislocated his shoulder from the struggle against the pain. Thankfully, his mind finally decides that it’s a good idea to dissociate from his current situation. 

He closes his eyes as the pain gets worse, retreating into his mind. He thinks about a happy memory, one where John wasn’t an abusive drunk and his mom hadn’t died yet. 

Dean’s four in his memory. It’s only a few days after they brought Sam home from the hospital. Sam is a chubby baby, and Dean said as much to his parents. They had laughed and told him that all babies are chubby, but Dean’s not sure he believes them. He sure wasn’t a chubby baby. 

Mama’s making pancakes this morning, the delicious smell of the batter and syrup floating throughout the house. He’s sitting on the carpet in the living room, stacking his blocks as tall as they can go before knocking them down and laughing hysterically. Daddy’s sitting at the kitchen counter, reading the newspaper after putting Sammy down for a nap. It’s still early and Dean doesn’t understand why Sammy needs to nap, they just woke up! 

Mama tells him that he has to wait until Sammy gets older to play with him. Dean really wants to play with him now, but he told Mama that he’d wait. Mama and Daddy play with him now, so he’s content to wait a little while to play with Sammy. 

Dean’s just getting to his favorite part of this memory when he’s yanked back to reality. The barbs of the whip repeatedly dig into the flesh on his back. He screams himself hoarse before retreating back into his mind.

He doesn’t latch onto a happy memory this time, instead drifting through a sea of thoughts and recollections, never able to latch onto one. 

He keeps circling back to thoughts about his parents. How they were both ripped away from him by Alastair. Oh, yes, he was all too happy to inform Dean that he was the one to kill his father. Dean never saw his body, too intent on escaping to focus on the ruined state of the motel room, but he has no reason to doubt Alastair, and the gunshots he heard are proof enough.

But his mother? It had hurt for weeks after Alastair had gleefully informed him that he was responsible for the fire that killed his mother. Dean remembers Alastair talking a lot about his mothers death and the events that preceded it, but they’re just out of his reach, and the more he tries to remember, the more the memory drifts further away.

Dean’s startled back to the present when he realizes that the pain has stopped. The general agony throughout his body is still there, it always is, but there isn’t anything adding to the pain right now. 

He cracks his eyes open, blinking a few times before he can process his surroundings. Alastair is still in front of him, but he’s not moving. He’s still holding the whip and the remote, but he’s only grinning maniacally, not punishing Dean.

“Oh, little bird, you think you can escape this that easily?” he steps close enough to whisper in Dean’s ear, “I know you weren’t really _here_. But don’t worry, I’ll make sure I keep you grounded this time.”

Alastair unhooks him from the ceiling and unchains him from the floor, forcefully moving him to present on a specially designed bench not too far from where he was. 

Not even seconds later does Dean hear Alastair’s zipper being pulled down and then he’s shoving into Dean’s hole. It’s dry and rough, and it _hurts_ , but Dean keeps quiet, even as Alastair grabs a fistful of his hair and yanks his head back. 

Dean hears something snap open, and then feels the press of a cool blade on his skin. Alastair drags the knife across his skin a few times without cutting him. On the fifth pass, Alastair suddenly slices a deep diagonal cut just to the left of his collar.

Dean’s screams echo in the small space.

_**6 Months After Dean’s Kidnapping** _

The rough wood floorboards dig into Dean’s back, scratching against his wounds painfully. The chains around his wrist don’t let him maneuver much, but he’s able to shuffle around enough to alleviate some of his pain. He’s given up on always kneeling, no one here really cares anyway. He’s just a punching bag and a whole to fuck most days. 

Alastair did a pretty thorough job of “breaking him in.” It wasn’t long after Dean became complacent that Alastair dragged him off somewhere else. He knows that it’s more of a house that he’s in now, but he still has no idea where the fuck he is.

A lot of people come through the house. A lot of different Alphas. They’ve almost all had Dean, one way or another. He’s lucky when all the Alpha wants to do is fuck him. It’s reality when they beat him black and blue and then fuck him against the floor, scraping his knees and forearms raw.

He’s pretty sure that he’s kept in the attic of the house. He wishes it was a nice change from the basement where he was before, but it’s about the same, if not worse. It’s still damp and kinda musty, but at least it was only Alastair fucking him in the basement. And there used to be more meals. Now, he’s lucky if he gets fed once every other day. 

There’s a cot in his room at least, but he only gets to lay on it if an Alpha decides that’s where they want to fuck him. His chains don’t even reach halfway to the bed. 

He gets hosed off about once a week. Someone comes in his room, ties a bag over his head, and then shoves him down a flight of stairs. He’s practically dragged outside onto the lawn, and then hosed off with freezing water until he’s clean of shit, piss, cum, and general filth. They drag him back upstairs and leave him in the attic to shiver until he’s dry. He savors the feeling of being clean though because it never lasts for very long.

Alastair still shows up every once in a while. He’s apparently been busy trying to manage multiple prisons in the area. Dean really couldn’t give a fuck, he’s just grateful not to be whipped to death every day. 

Dean’s been taken back and forth a couple of times between the attic and the basement. He gets drugged every time before being moved. Jesus, it’s been so long since he’s seen the sunlight that he’s not even sure his eyes could adjust to it. His skin has long since turned a washed out white, not even a hint of the tan he used to have is left. 

One of the Alpha’s that fucked him awhile ago let slip that they put him on birth control. Dean’s not really sure how they get it to him, but he suspects that it’s in his food. He really can’t think of any other way besides if they drug him. He’s grateful no matter what though. The fact that he can’t get pregnant lifts a little of the weight off his shoulders, one that he didn’t know he was carrying. 

He’s come to terms with his life now. There’s no way out for him, no one to save him. He’d given up on that hope a long time ago. He feels like he kind of deserves it in a way. He was never good enough for his father, and he sure as hell failed Sam. So what’s the point in trying to fight it? He let his inner Omega take over a while ago, giving into the little voice in his head that said that presenting and submitting like a good bitch would please the Alpha the best.

Well, “let” isn’t exactly what Dean did. It was more of his inner Omega clawing its way to the surface and refusing to give Dean the reins back than Dean “letting” his Omega take over. 

Dean sits up, scooting closer to the wall until he can semi comfortably lean his back against it. He hears the heavy footsteps of an Alpha stomping their way up the stairs. Sounds really tend to echo in this house, letting Dean know when he’s about to be bombarded with a knothead Alpha. Dean swears that he’s not met a single Alpha whose scent doesn’t put him on edge, even before this whole shitshow.

There’s clanking on the other side of the door, the Alpha fumbling with the key that unlocks the door. It’s not long before it’s opened though, not nearly long enough for Dean. 

The door swings inward, revealing a heavily muscled Alpha. He’s tall and broad, with dark hair and the hint of a beard. Dean doesn’t see the key to the door, but he usually doesn’t so it’s not a surprise. What is a surprise is that the Alpha’s holding a box. And not just a flimsy cardboard box, but a nice, probably insulated, metal one. 

The Alpha grins down at Dean, kicking the door shut behind him. He pretty much ignores Dean after that, going to set the box down on the lone nightstand next to the flimsy cot. The Alpha stands between Dean and the nightstand, blocking his view of the box when he opens it. He spends a few more seconds bent over the box, messing with its contents. When the Alpha finally moves away from the box, Dean’s too low to be able to see inside it anyway. 

The Alpha bends behind Dean to unlock the chains binding his wrists and ankles, “Up you go, Omega bitch, let’s go,” he pulls Dean over to the cot, surprisingly laying him down on his back instead of his stomach.

Dean hasn’t needed to be chained to the bedposts for a while now, but the Alpha does it anyway, securing him to the bed. Dean doesn’t bother asking what’s going on, and, honestly, he really just doesn’t care. He just wants to get it over with so the Alpha will leave and Dean can curl up on the floor again.

The Alpha reaches into the box, but Dean doesn’t turn his head to see what it is, continuing to stare at the ceiling. He feels a prick on his upper arm that jolts him out of his stupor.

“What the fuck was that,” Dean hasn’t done anything but scream or whimper in so long that his voice comes out scratchy and weak.

The Alpha chuckles, messing with the box some more before closing it. Dean’s paying attention this time, staring at the Alpha and the box. He knows he was just injected with something, but he has no fucking clue what it was.

“Just a little something to make a more enjoyable night for the rest of the boys,” he chuckles again, grabbing the handle of the box and leaving the room before Dean gets the chance to ask what the fuck that means.

He really can’t say that he’s too surprised. It was only a matter of time before they got bored of him. He just expected to be shot and dumped in a gutter somewhere when that happened, not injected with a mystery drug and tied to a bed. Oh, well, such is life apparently.

Dean lays on the cot for hours. Not a single thing happens. He can still coherently think, and he doesn’t feel the overwhelming urge to be tied on some Alpha’s knot. He’s far from comfortable, the shackles around his wrists and ankles make sure of that, but at least he’s on the bed, which is a little better than the floor. 

The real shitshow starts when Dean hears multiple people coming up the stairs to the attic. Even through the iron door, Dean can _smell_ them. He picks out at least four different scents, all brimming with excitement and smelling absolutely horrible. It gets a thousand times worse when the door actually opens, and Dean has to resist the urge to vomit all over himself. 

It takes him a second to realize that he’s started slicking, which hasn’t happened outside of his heats since he _presented_. He’s hot as all hell, flames licking their way across his skin in scalding stripes. He lets out a fucking whine, struggling against the chains that hold him to the bed. 

That goddamn injection did this shit to him. Probably meant to make his body go into a pseudo heat. His eyes burn, watering up enough that Dean’s vision goes blurry. _Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck._ Out of everything he expected these fuckers to do, it certainly wasn’t this. 

The four Alpha’s file into their room, their eyes all dark red and lust-filled. Dean hears the door shut, but he doesn’t comprehend that he’s been unchained until he’s flipped over onto his stomach. Someone holds his upper body down while three sets of hands explore his skin. One of the Alphas spread his legs, forcing Dean to present. 

Not even a second later is a thick cock shoved in his hole, tearing the sensitive skin even with the slick Dean’s producing. It makes Dean hotter, sweat gathering on his forehead and the burning throughout his body intensifying.

Dean can’t even scream, barely letting out short whines and gasps as he’s roughly taken by all four Alpha’s for days. 

_**9 Months After Dean’s Kidnapping** _

Dean is pregnant. He’s known for a few weeks now. There was a lot of vomiting, there is still, but he didn’t have a fever or any other signs of illness. He was somehow putting on some weight, and it sure as hell wasn’t from eating more. 

He’d tried to hide it as much as he could at first. Covering himself in the smell of vomit and piss to hide the scent of pregnant Omega. He gave up when he realized that he was getting fed more often. The rest of the Alphas knew. 

Dean’s still in shock. He was on birth control for fuck’s sake, there’s no way that he got pregnant. No fucking way. It feels like it’s not really happening, like if he thinks hard enough, he can convince himself that he’s not pregnant, that his situation didn’t just get even more fucked up. 

But the Alphas who fuck won’t let him forget it, growling obscenities about “breeding” him and “fucking him full of pups.” It makes Dean want to puke every time someone brings it up. 

The plus side is that Dean gets fed more now. It’s still not nearly enough, but it’s more. And it’s not just porridge he gets to eat now, sometimes it’s even soup. 

Dean doesn’t really know how far along he is, but he guesses about 13 ish weeks. The only way he can rationalize his pregnancy is if he conceived the night they injected him with that heat-inducing drug. He only half payed attention in his sex ed class, but from what little he knows, the timeline makes sense. 

He’s still not sure if they intentionally got him pregnant, or if it was an accident. He figures that if they’ve let him keep the baby this long, it was probably on purpose. Dean wonders if Alastair knows and what he thinks about the whole deal. Was it his idea? Dean doesn’t see how it could be, the guy’s barely around anymore, but he can’t be sure. 

It does kinda seem like something Alastair would do. Forcing Dean through the pregnancy only to take his child the moment they aren’t inside Dean anymore seems just his style. So would forcing Dean to watch as Alastair raises the child into a fucktoy like himself or a knotheaded Alpha that fucks everything in sight. He’s had a lot of time to go through worst case scenarios. However it turns out, he doesn’t see this ending well for himself or his child. 

There’s someone coming up the stairs, Dean didn’t realize it at first because of how light the sound is, but he definitely hears it now. He just ate not too long ago, so it’s probably some Alpha looking to let some frustration out by fucking him. 

The door opens a few seconds later, not even the jangling of keys giving away that the lock’s being opened. 

It’s definitely not some random Alpha looking to fuck him.

“Hello there, little bird. Miss me?” Alastair’s weirdass white eyes rake over Dean’s naked body, fixating on the little bulge of his stomach.

Dean shivers, his body going cold all over. All hopes that Alastair hadn’t orchestrated this mess fly out the window. 

“I see you had fun with that little drug I made them give you. It’s something new I cooked up. Quite the hot commodity right now. Of course I had to test it on a few Omegas first, and you were one of the obvious choices,” Alastair shuts the door, leaning against the wall but not taking his eyes off of Dean, “Thanks for finding the little flaw in the drug. It was tricky to fix, had to side step some laws, but I got it done.”

Alastair takes a few steps forward, squatting down in front of Dean. His left arm holds his blazer open while his right reaches inside of the jacket. Dean remains motionless as Alastair draws out a syringe, his breath coming in short bursts when Alastair attaches a needle to the end of it. Dean’s scent spikes with fear, and Alastair takes a deep breath, seemingly reveling in it. 

“This should take care of your little problem,” Alastair plunges the needle into Dean’s upper arm, quickly pressing the plunger in and retracting it before Dean has a chance to resist.

Alastair stands back up, depositing the syringe back into his blazer and turning his back on Dean. Distantly, Dean sees an opportunity to attack. He’d probably land a few good blows before Alastair would overpower him and beat him to a pulp. Before Dean has a chance to decide if it’s worth it or not, Alastair is opening the door and leaving. 

The cramps start a couple hours later. They aren’t very noticeable at first, but Dean understands what’s about to happen. As the cramps get worse, he starts to bleed a little. It starts out with just a few drops every couple of minutes, but it’s not long before there’s a steady stream of blood coming out of his ass. The bleeding doesn’t stop for at least 3 days. Dean loses track of the time, his body weak from the blood loss and in a constant state of agony. Sometimes it’s a sharp pain, like someone is shoving pins and needles into his pelvis, other times it’s a dull throbbing, usually between the worst of the cramps. 

Dean lays on the floor for most of it, not really caring how much blood he gets on himself. 

It’s during the middle of the second day, when his cramps have felt more like labor, that he passes his baby. Dean definitely wasn’t prepared for the sharp stab of agony that wraps around his chest, constricting his breathing. 

He carefully picks the very tiny baby up, sobs wracking his body. He’s careful not to let his tears spill onto the child, cradling them to his chest in the palm of a hand. They’re so very tiny, but unmistakably a child, with small arms and legs, and even individual fingers and toes.

Dean cries for hours, uncaring of the blood still leaking from his hole, or how it’s coating his thighs. He sobs for what could have been, for the future he and his child could have had. He cries for the kind Alpha that he’ll never have, the family he won’t ever get to make.

Days later, when someone finally decides to open Dean’s door, rough hands take his baby from him, pulling him down the steps and outside. 

He’s rinsed off in cold water, the bag suffocating around his head.

When he’s thrown back into the attic, all physical traces of his suffering are gone, the floor scrubbed clean and all odors neutralized. 

_**2 Years After Dean’s Kidnapping** _

The basement is as cold as ever. His wrists are probably permanently marked up from the shackles. Dean knows that his back is a bloody mess. He was slow and tired last night, leading to a longer than usual whipping. He’s rarely ever good enough for Alastair. 

He still gets shuffled between the basement and the attic, but the moves are less frequent than they used to be. He gets fed just enough to sustain his body, to keep him from passing out when Alpha’s fuck him. It still happens sometimes, and he gets beat twice as hard for it. 

Dean’s drugged into a pseudo heat once every three or four months. It leaves his body exhausted, and he loses weight every time. It’s four days of endless fucking and always being tied to an Alpha but never getting the satisfaction his body craves. Luckily, he never gets pregnant again. 

He doesn’t talk at all these days except for the occasional “yes, master” or the constant whines and noises that Alphas like when they fuck him. 

Alastair had taken more of an interest in him once he found out that the rest of the fight had left Dean. He started taking Dean “out” more. Not outside, but to shady business meetings and even the occasional club. Alastair was always quick to inform everyone that he broke Dean himself, and besides the compliments on how “well trained” he was, no one payed any attention to Dean.

The meetings are generally pretty boring. All Dean is expected to do is warm Alastair’s cock during the meeting, and then he usually gets fucked afterwards. It isn’t always exclusively by Alastair either, sometimes the Alpha he’s meeting with is allowed to use him. It hurts either way so Dean doesn’t care who it was.

The clubs are an entirely different story. Sometimes he's tied down to a bench in a secluded corner and any Alpha that wants him can step up behind him and take him. Other times Alastair ties him up in rope, hoists him above the ground, and whips his back bloody. Most of the patrons seem to enjoy his screams, so Dean’s never bothered to ask anyone for help.

Dean feels like he’s finally getting a grasp on what’s expected of him. He _deserves_ his punishments. Alastair had laid out the rules, and when Dean broke them, he’d inevitably get punished, whether it’s right away or a few days later. 

It is his fault if he isn’t sucking Alastair off right, or if he’s too slow to present. He’s there to please Alastair and whatever Alphas he lets fuck Dean, and if he isn’t good enough, he’ll get punished to remember to be good next time. 

It’s the way life is now, and Dean thinks that he’s finally learned that. He thought he knew before, but he was wrong. He was _so_ wrong. 

The heavy door leading into the room opens, revealing Alastair’s slim figure as he walks in.

“Let’s go, pet, I’ve got a meeting in an hour and then we’re headed to the opening of a new club.” Alastair unchains Dean from the wall, attaching a leather leash to his collar and tugging him along. 

They get all the way to the door before Alastair ties the black bag around Dean’s head, opening the door and shoving him through. 

He never goes anywhere without something covering his eyes. Dean’s not sure why Alastair still does it, it’s not like Dean’s gonna tell anyone, but it happens nonetheless. 

Throughout the meetings, Dean’s learned a little more about his location. He knows that he’s along the west coast of California somewhere, and that the basement where Alastair keeps him is actually part of a much larger building. He’s counted all the way up to 34 floors on the rare occasion when Alastair takes him on the elevator in the building.

Dean fumbles his way up the stairs, Alastair dragging him by the neck when he falls behind. 

_**5 ½ Years After Dean’s Kidnapping** _

Alastair had been in an unusually good mood for the past few weeks. Dean’s punishments were less severe, and he earned them less often. Alastair was much more likely to use Dean as a quick fuck and leave instead of spending hours inflicting as much pain as he could. 

Of course it all had to come crashing down when Alastair was in the middle of enjoying Dean’s body. 

He had just shoved himself into Dean, setting a brutal pace right away, when his phone, which was always on him, had gone off.

It had happened a few times before, and Dean knew to remain quiet and motionless while Alastair answered the phone and continued fucking into him. 

“What do you want? I’m in the middle of something you idiot.”

Alastair slowed down, burying himself to the hilt and stopping. “And you imbeciles _agreed_? You should have fucking said I was busy and left me to take care of it! You goddamn idiots. You’ll be lucky if I don’t fucking skin you. When is he coming?”

Alastair yanked himself away from Dean, pacing the floor. “ _Today?!_ He’s fucking come here _today_?” He’s quiet for a moment, “You will send him up to my office when he gets here, have at least two men escort him. After I am done we will be having a lengthy chat about the proper procedures for shit like this.” Alastair abruptly hangs up, shoving his phone back into his blazer. 

He attaches the leash to Dean’s collar without a word, dragging him out the door and up a flight of steps. Even without the bag on, Dean knows to keep his head down. 

They walk through another door and down a hallway before stepping into an elevator. Dean hears Alastair jam a button for a floor number before the elevator starts to rise. Alastair is absolutely _seething_ beside Dean, and Dean has to fight the urge to hurl because of his rotten eggs scent. 

The elevator finally stops, the ride taking long enough that Dean has a feeling they’re on the top floor. The doors open with a soft ding, and then he’s being dragged across a glossy marble floor. They walk past rows of cubicles, most of which, from what Dean can see out of the corner of his eye, are empty. There are wide, floor to ceiling windows that take up two of the walls. It’s dark outside, but even Dean can appreciate the view. He must be in a large city because the lights go on as far as Dean can see. 

Dean almost slams into Alastair’s back because he wasn’t paying attention, but he catches himself just before, taking a leap back before Alastair notices. His master seems to be in another world because he doesn’t even turn around to verbally reprimand Dean.

The door in front of them opens, Alastair dragging Dean inside. He shoves Dean to his knees beside the large wood desk in the room. Unfortunately, Dean isn’t facing the window, so he gets to stare at an empty wall and his hands while Alastair shuffles around the room.

Dean hears the creak of leather as Alastair sits in his chair behind the desk, and then the rustling of papers. Alastair seems content to ignore Dean as he waits for whoever they were talking about on the phone to show up.

-+++-

A hand runs through black hair, making the perpetual mess unevenly spiked. The man pockets his phone, grabbing his blazer off of the back of a chair and sliding it on.

“Tebe ne nuzhno bylo etogo delat', Pakhan. Vy dolzhny byli pozvolit' nashim lyudyam spravit'sya s etim,” his companion, a shorter brown haired man, says from his chair with his feet propped on the desk.

“Net, ya sam razberus' s etim ublyudkom,” the dark haired one replies, striding to the office door and quickly exiting.

“Der'mo!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary:  
> Dean is raped and beaten by Alastair for a little over 2 months before being moved to an attic where various Alphas rape and beat him. He's learned that Alastair killed both of his parents, and that he is being kept in California somewhere. He is tied down and injected with a drug that makes his body go into heat, and is then used by four Alphas. His birth control failed at that time and he got pregnant. Alastair then injects him with a drug that makes him lose the baby. Alastair is in the middle of raping Dean when his phone rings, he talks to a subordinate on the phone for a minute before dragging Dean to his office.
> 
> Russian Translations:  
> "You didn't have to do that, Pakhan. You should have let our people handle this."  
> "No, I'll deal with this bastard myself."  
> "Shit!"
> 
> So? What'd you think? This is hopefully (probably) the darkest chapter of the fic, and I hope I made up for it with Cas!  
> Love,  
> TR

**Author's Note:**

> What'd you think? Let me know any ideas you have for what you'd like to see in later chapters because I don't know myself yet.  
> Thanks to all you lovely readers for sticking my horrible writing out, it's much appreciated. Comments and kudo fuel my drive to write!
> 
> Much Love,  
> TR


End file.
